Cold War Spy Story: Part Chitieri


Botendaddy is handcuffed, seated behind a table. The creepy CIA agent is on the other side of the table. A single bare bulb 💡 burns overhead in the drab concrete block room.

”You’ve done a great job for the Navy P.O. Botendaddy. You seem to always have the info on the shit-covered red commies. Now why would that be? How could some meaningless douchebag man-cunt Old-Lady fucker like you be so omniscient?”

Roaks Czech Cigaretu and gives Botendaddy a puff.

”If I may ask, what the fuck is this shit? It was supposed to be a debrief. I have to report to the Army, I’m separating from the Navy tomorrow and I have orders for Army Basic at Ft. Knox, then I have to pick a National Guards unit.”

Creepy CIA Stooge stands up.

”Should I use your real name, Evgenyi Alexandreiovich Botenscziewski? Aka Botendaddy? You shitty Communist pinko scumbag infiltrator Spy 🕵️‍♂️. We have the goods on you, fucktard. You wanted to put a giant turgid cock into Uncle Sam’s quivering bowel. Here’s the deal. You’re a double agent now. Only two people know about this. Me and George Bush , President Reagan’s VP. He’s still an operative. You and I will meet once a year at a restaurant here in Virginia called ‘The Crazy 😜 Dago 🇮🇹’. “

Botendaddy shifted in his chair, but stared right at the agent.

”This is insane. Do I even look 🇷🇺 Russian to you? And who insults Italians like that? You could get whacked.”

”Stand up and turn around.”

Botendaddy stands up and the agent lowers his pants 👖 and man-panties. Using a purple fluorescent flashlight 🔦 he inspects Botendaddy’s anus.

”It’s all I can do right now not to drill you in your glistening anus with my massive, gnarled love-tool. Ah the taste of it! But the Soviet anus-tattoo is not there. So you are not the one we are seeking. Damn.”

Agent shudders with repressed orgiastic ecstasy. Don’t mention this to anyone.

”So we still meeting next year Agent Q?”

”June 18, 1982, The Crazy Dago.”




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Balok: Greatest Star Trek Character of All Time

Everything related to Science Fiction is Geeky 🤓 Nerdy 🤓 and Gay (In the South Park Sense not in the 🌈 sense look, gays, you stole the word Gay from the 1890’s, then South Park stole it from you, don’t be so bitchy *hot*).

But The Original Stark Trek had a character named ‘Balok’ from an episode called ‘The Corbomite Manoeuvre”. Balok was played by Clint Howard.


Balok drinks the Tranya with Captain Kirk (Star Trek, All Rights owned by CBS and CBS Paramount)

He was a weird little guy who had a giant ship 🚢 and a creepy bad guy alter ego who threatened to destroy the Enterprise.

Balok was of course faked out by Captain Kirk who also had to dodge sexual Harassment against Yeoman Rand by being gay with his Starship and almost getting beefed out by Dr. McCoy over the slightly unstable Ensign Bailey.

After Balok got snookered, he took it all in good humor and he ended up inviting one of the young officers to stay with him a while and share cultural knowledge.

Balok is just so weird that he’s cool 😎. He’s like a hip space-baby.

Peace be the Botendaddy

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Bert Kaempfert and Al Hirt

Listen youngsters, that’s those of you under the age of one ☝️ billion, you must find some time to listen to Bert Kaempfert, Ladi Geisler, Manfred Moch and Al Hirt.

I’m trying to help you be hip. You obviously 🙄 can’t do it in your own, so the Botendaddy is here to help you.


The sixties were sort of the end for the big band era. These bands came to be considered ‘square’ which was a death knell. You know the story: Elvis-Beatles-Woodstock-Arena Rock came along and we all forgot Ladi and Al and Manfred and Bert.

Please, if you consider yourself a musician 👨‍🎤 👩‍🎤 , rapper, rocker, punk indie or whatever crazy horse 🐎 crap 💩 you are listening 👂 to with your goddamned earbuds in 25 hours a day, just interrupt your miserable commercialized pop drivel musical bowel movement and take a listen.

Peace be the Botendaddy

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Run #101 of 2017 an all time record

I was finally alone. I was in the barren picnic shelter down by the river. Once filled with joyous summer revelers, it was now empty and mournful with a funereal, melancholy feel, les arbres 🌲 ayant déjà jeté tous leurs feuilles 🍁 l’air était triste et beau.


I shrieked to the deserted pavilion of ancient, hoary, musty, forgotten death 💀.

It would be my 101st outdoor run of the year. I do not run 🏃 on a treadmill, as that is sad and does not ever count towards annual mileage because it is bull 🐮 crap 💩.

I was 🙆‍♂️ stretching, trying to touch my toes without ripping my hamstrings.

”You are a fucking moron.”

It was the Librarian.

”Did you follow me again?”

I inquired as I stated at her spandex covered haunches.

”Do you like what you doth see? O’ Yon’ Botendaddy?”

She said, shoving her wet, stinky, tasty,, girlie mons pubis right into my visage.


I cried to the ancient gods.

”Let us run 🏃‍♀️ you shit-covered slob!”

Thus quod she.

So we ran in the savage, wet, melting snow ⛄️ along the little canal between the hip, gentrified, urban island 🌴 and the shitty post-industrial machine-age wasteland.


I shriequed.

Our Mile time was grotesque.


I told you it was snowy and machine-age!

We ran out to the end of the island 🌴 where George (pronounced Whore-Gay or Gay-Orgue) Washington once trod.

Our two-mile time was vile followed by an excruciatingly, godlessly slow three-mile and 5k Time.

”I don’t feel like I can keep running 🏃. Let’s walk. My Map 🗺 My Run 🏃 App 📱 sucks rancid monkey 🐒 balls ⚽️. It won’t let me log in again. What a piece of useless shit 💩. Was it designed by an actual anthropomorphized cartoon anus?”

Also spräche dass Botendaddy.

“Your foreign language is phony bowel movement. It is stupid. You are fat and moronic like a shit-covered stooge. I am madly in love 😍 with you. Let’s go into the abandoned boat 🚣‍♀️ house 🏡 and I want you to f@&$ me so hard, that my piss-soaked pelvis is broken and I want you to shriek with pleasure and triumph as loud as possible as you defile my defenseless body! F@&$ ME GODDAMN YOU! YOU SHIT-COVERED ANCIENT IDIOT! I AM DYING FOR YOUR SLIMY DEFECTIVE SPERMATOZOANS!”

So, my dear readers, we ran 4.01 miles in the shittacious, slushy snow ❄️ and yes, I f@&$ed her into complete submission, all the while shrieking like a Valkyrie (pronounced Wall-Kye-Rhee).

I f&$&ed her in every degrading way imaginable. I f@&ed her in a rowboat 🚣‍♀️ in a canoe 🛶 on a catamaran…

Wait, why the long face 🐴? You hypocrites! You practically begged me to f@&$ her! You bald-faced liars! I trusted you! What am I Weinstein? Lauer? Simmons? Moore?

”Iced Mocha with Bailey’s?”

Peace be the Botendaddy


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Review: The Crossbreed

We has Reader’s Digest Condensed Books 📚 on our shelves forever. Until after we moved the 20th odd time and the books got donated to some library.


Classic Americana

It was Volume 74, Number 3. 1968. We also had Encyclopedia Britannica, Britannica for kids and the Britannica Year in Review. We essentially had the manual Internet in our home. We also had original National Geographic every issue from 1916-1975. Every single one. We had every issue of National Lampoon from April 1970 to December 1979. All gone now.

I used to read a lot as a kid 🧒. I found the Reader’s Digest Condensed 📚 📖 Books. If you find them in a used Bookstore pick them up. Put down your electronic horse 🐎 crap 💩 and read.

So I read the Story by Allan Eckert: “The Crossbreed” It was about the lifelong fight for survival of a bobcat-housecat crossbreed, and his relationship with a farm boy.

It’s not corny like you might think 🤔. It was gripping. It’s essentially allegorical for coming of age but told from the cat’s 🐈 perspective. It is gritty and realistic. It’s a good read for anyone literally 8-80.

I almost forgot the book, or condensed book, but it may be the first book I ever read. As I’ve turned you on to Karinthy and Shirley Jackson and James Thurber and Gwendolyn Brooks and Carl Sandburg and Chinua Achebe I hope you will enjoy Allan Eckert. A terribly underrated writer.

For Americana, damn close to best of genre.

Kids, it’s 2017, get on y’all’s Internets and find the damn book 📖.

Peace be the Botendaddy

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The Long Road Home: Not a Review…

It is too deeply personal.

Almost everything on this site is light, silly humor akin to S.J. Perlman’s ‘Feuilletons’. He wasn’t a direct influence, but it’s a parallel style.

At any rate. I’ve been watching ‘The Long Road Home’ about 1st Cavalry Division in Sadr City on ‘Black Sunday’ April 4th, 2004.

I had no awareness of it when it was going on. I was in between tours. I wasn’t with the 1st Cav until four years later. All the units were there on Battalion, the long road traversing Ft. Hood. I knew some guys had traumatic tours. I was like the weird guy who transfers into school from across the country who doesn’t know anyone’s backstory.

I never suffered like they did. Not in Bosnia 🇧🇦 and not in Iraq 🇮🇶. I was lucky 🍀 by nature. Not good, just lucky. I was very protective of ‘the kids’ as I called them.

I lost a lot of friends to the ‘Savage Wars of Peace.’ Some were KIA on tours in Afghan, some committed suicide years after.

I had a job to do for the Cav when I was in  Iraq. It was a one-off job, but proved to be useful to keep everyone safe so they said. They gave me a medal. I’m not being modest, but I really don’t deserve it. If I had any integrity, I would give it back. Was just being there enough? I’m not sure.

A lot of people criticized the show as being too formulaic, but if you were in 1st Cavalry 🐴 it’s like watching a war movie about your own family… it’s heart-rending. I can barely watch it. I think about Annabel Lee fielding phone calls from 1st Cav Family Support Group from a thousand miles away. I think about the little Boten-Daughter missing daddy for a year.

When I got back the baby was still quite young. One day I dropped her off at school and she said ‘when you went to the war, I thought you were never coming back’ My daughter will always be a 1st Cav baby 👶 and Annabel Lee will always be a 1st Cav wife.

So it’s hard to watch and it’s a little too real, so I don’t have any critique of any value.

I hate myself sometimes because I don’t think about the boys and girls of the Cav enough. I haven’t been to visit at the VA. It’s not that I can’t do the right thing, it’s that I just don’t think I deserve to be in their company and I don’t know if I can be of any solace or any help.

Peace be the Botendaddy


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Sad? Lonely? Depressed? Listen to some Paul Pena

I know some of you are in a dark place right now. The world seems vicious and unkind. You’re lonely. I am desperately trying to help those of you, my 72, beautiful, intoxicatingly gorgeous, tragic, geniuses who are my followers because I love you in a creepy, uncomfortable, yet early 19th century romantic-era Edgar Allan Poe sort of way.


The beauty of Paul Pena

Please listen to Paul Pena.

The music you are listening to right now is filthy, dirty doggie-doo.

Please turn that horrific pre-packaged commercialized crap off.

This applies to all of my followers.

Paul Pena who was black, white, Hispanic and who knows what else, cuts across all ethnicities races, colors, creeds, religions, genders and orientations.

We came together on mountaintops in tribal hippie love holding hands in a big circle.

His awesome 70’s tribal-love music will change your life.

His deep soulful tones are indescribable. Please listen to it yourself. Make sure no-one else is in the room.

Yes it’s Big Ol’ Jet Airliner by Paul Pena, not Steve Miller, who I guarantee you loved Paul Pena.

Please listen to the mystical soul sound of Woke up This Morning.

Listen to the pure ‘Meter’s’ style funk of I’m Gonna Make it Alright.

He built inroads with the Mongolian people with his Tuvan throat singing.

OK, go listen to these. Then come right back here and tell me if you aren’t filled with 70’s hippie tribal love and joy?

Come and join me on the mountaintop. Be happy. Discover Paul Pena.

RIP – Beautiful Paul Pena

Peace be the Botendaddy


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